


Silk

by ImagineYourself



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Actual Spider Peter Parker, Angst, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eventual Smut, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Murder, No boxes, Peter Has Feelings, Spider Shenanigans, Spider Venom, Stealth suit, Wade is a Smooth Operator, give them a while to like figure some stuff out, weird superpowers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21869260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineYourself/pseuds/ImagineYourself
Summary: After leaving his early Spider-Man days behind, adulthood brings more changes than Peter ever expected from the spider bite, some worse than others. Things used to be simple; now it's really gotten complicated. And then Wade finds out.-“Sleep tight! Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” he heard Wade call out from behind him. “I mean, unless they’re spiders. Or not? Do you like spiders?” The shouts faded as Peter swung away fast. He didn’t hear whatever Wade followed that up with.“Do I like spiders?” Peter mumbled to himself. He laughed, a bit darkly. “I think it’s obligatory at this point.”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 33
Kudos: 200





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: yes I'm going to give you more warnings than are in the tags: there is graphic gore and literal eating of hearts. If you want a little backstory, see the end notes.

Peter was on the hunt. If you could call it that, really.

He followed a suspicious character he’d seen on the subway and surreptitiously crawled out of sight behind. The character didn’t seem to be paying close attention to what was going on around them, else they may have noticed when a random passerby saw Spidey and called out a friendly greeting. Peter replied, in turn, with a wave and disappeared on top of the building he was currently stalking across.

Thankfully, he was significantly more perceptive than the average person, so Peter never lost his target.

The suspicious character was called such as they had been sitting nearby Peter on the train but had a hood pulled up over sunglassed eyes and a soft frown, a pocketknife in their hand they were playing with in the front pocket of their hoodie.

Peter wasn’t profiling, don’t get him wrong. It was none of these things that caught his attention. The thing that was most suspicious was the way Peter’s hair stood on end and every time he looked away and he would swear there was something happening in his periphery, something the person was doing, but when he looked fully, even if he just shifted his eyes behind the mask and not his whole face, it seemed to be in his imagination only. Needless to say, he was on edge.

This might have been something Peter would have concluded and forgotten about were it just a few years ago and he was more fresh from the bite. No, this Peter was different. This Peter knew more. He understood his powers more. He understood his flaws. Thus, suspicious characters who set off his alarms by sitting still were definitely worthy of following.

Apparently someone else thought so, too.

“Hey, Wade,” Peter said, and even though it was soft he smiled as Deadpool lost his footing on the fire escape he currently clung to, startled.

“Shit, fuck, Spidey!” Wade huffed, regaining balance.

Peter barely gave him a glance. He sensed the man a few blocks back. He might have thought Wade was following him if not for Wade obviously going out of his way to hide from the suspicious character, not Peter. “Why are you following that person?” he asked, glad for a moment’s pause as the person in question was stopped at a crosswalk.

Freeing himself from the fire escape, Wade shrugged. “S’picious.”

Sometimes Peter wished Wade could see him roll his eyes behind his mask. He settled for giving a mild snort before taking off to the next lamppost when their target started walking again.

The two kept up, quietly and without getting in each others’ ways for ten more blocks until the suspicious character entered a nondescript apartment building in Chinatown. It actually wasn’t too far from Peter’s own shitty little apartment. It made him wonder, however, why the person had gotten off the train so many blocks away from home when they could have stayed at least a few more stops.

Peter was musing this as Wade approached, holding out his arms like he wanted a hug. Easily dodging with a sidestep, Peter turned toward him. “So?”

“Damn it. One of these days I’ll sneak up on you.” Wade was pouting comically. “I swear it.”

Peter didn’t have the heart to tell him it was almost literally impossible. No one, not even the best assassins in the world were able to get the drop on him. Not anymore.

“So?” Peter repeated.

Shaking his head, Wade bemoaned, “I dunno. Weasel’s got me putting trackers on a couple of deadbeats. Apparently, this is the only one that doesn’t check out.”

“What for?”

“No clue. Maybe screwed with the wrong guy? Or gal? Or alien?”

“I get it.” Peter crept away as Wade crept closer, the motions completely instinctual. He tapped his chin. “I saw them on the subway. Gave me a bad feeling.”

“Rubbed you the wrong way, eh?” Wade chuckled, pleased with his own words. He added quickly, “I know a guy who could rub you the right way—”

Peter slapped a web to his mouth, not even hesitating. “Yes, dear,” he deadpanned. Then he smiled and laughed a little. “Good to see you, Pool. Let me know if anything comes up with this one again.”

“Whaaat?” Wade drawled. The web was good and all, but because it only affected the mask Wade could still talk. He could never shut up for long anyway. “That’s it?”

With a shrug, Peter replied, “Yeah. I’m gonna go sleep now. So have a good night.”

Not waiting around for Wade to come up with some excuse or another to get tacos and hang out, Peter slung out a web and leaped away.

“Sleep tight! Don’t let the bed bugs bite!” he heard Wade call out from behind him. “I mean, unless they’re spiders. Or not? Do you like spiders?” The shouts faded as Peter swung away fast. He didn’t hear whatever Wade followed that up with.

“Do I like spiders?” Peter mumbled to himself. He laughed, a bit darkly. “I think it’s obligatory at this point.” He didn’t have to remind himself that he was one now; every fiber of his being knew that far too well.

When he got home he hardly stripped from his suit before falling into bed. If you could call it that, really.

The suit slid through a few silk strands to the floor and Peter nestled into a much thicker nest of webs on the ceiling. Just before he fell asleep, he felt a couple of strands twitch.

“I guess I like you guys,” he said to the small spiders crawling nearby. “If I didn’t have you, I’d be way too lonely.”

…

When he woke it was to the ring of his phone, afternoon light peeking in through the cracks of his curtains. Lazily, he stretched down, arms above his head to grab the singing device before curling back up.

“Hey,” he said, more of a noise than a word.

“Got a mission, kid. Get out of bed and to the tower.” Tony’s voice was curt, but Peter could tell he wasn’t angry. More like he hadn’t slept for around forty hours or so.

“Yeah, okay. Trade you. Go to bed,” Peter ordered, the words broken by a yawn.

Tony snorted over the line. “No way. I got coffee, the good stuff. Come quickly before Barton gets the last sip.”

“Not again!” Peter groaned loudly even as he was dropping to the floor and scrounging around for his suit.

At that, Tony actually laughed. “I’ll save some for you.”

“You’re the best.”

“See you soon, kid.”

Peter stuffed the phone his suit pocket, one he had specifically designed for that purpose, because he was tired of shoving it in his pants like he’d been doing for years. It was kind of embarrassing to fish around his junk to call the police in front of bad guys. One too many jokes had Peter pounding on Tony’s door and demanding a new suit.

From his kitchen window, the only one not blacked out in the whole apartment, Peter could see the sun starting to set. He crawled outside once he knew he wasn’t being watched and set off north.

The journey was utterly uneventful. A good thing because Peter was still waking up. Typically he didn’t wake until later in the evening and his sleep had already been put off that morning with the extra time spent tailing. He’d been on his way home, anyway, but the extra time was costing him now.

Arriving about halfway up the side of the building, a window opened just for him, allowing him to crawl in and find himself in a familiar hallway.

Jarvis greeted him with a cordial, “Hello, Spider-Man. Tony is currently in the meeting room.”

“Did he save me coffee like he said?” Peter punctuated the question with another yawn.

“Yes, sir. Just how you like it,” Jarvis told him.

Peter would have kissed him if he were a real person, not just virtual. “You’re a godsend,” he said in lieu.

If Jarvis could laugh, he sure would have just then. “As Tony designed me.”

Peter laughed in his stead and quickly made his way into the meeting room. Inside, he smelled the coffee before he took anything else in. He sat at the open space housing his coffee—in his favorite Spidey mug, too!—and took a sip before even tuning in to the people around him.

When he looked up, Tony was smirking with mirth, Clint was hiding a smile, and Steve had his brows raised.

“Never were a morning person, Pete,” Tony joked.

Peter grumbled but did not reply. He simply sipped at his coffee, somehow the perfect drinking temperature.

“Anyway,” Steve said mildly, “we were just discussing the details.”

Leaning back, mug in hands, Peter blinked slowly and nodded. “Lay it on me.”

Steve slid a few pictures across the tabletop to him, Jarvis’ helpful digital labels telling him what he was looking at. It was a person—of course it was—who had on a hoodie and was looking out of the corner of their eye, covered with dark sunglasses. There were several angles of the figure, but Peter only needed the one.

“That’s—”

Peter interrupted, “I saw this guy last night.”

“What?” Tony asked, jerking in his seat.

“Yeah, I followed him from the subway on my way home. He was looking shady.”

“Shady doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Steve said, clearly trying to take the conversation back. “His name is Harvey. No last name, no other identifiers. Everyone who knows him calls him Harvey.”

“You have a picture of his face?” Peter asked, looking closer at one of the photos that almost caught the side of his face. Somehow this guy was really good at positioning his hood. Peter hadn’t been able to catch a glimpse the night before, either.

“Nope. He’s a ghost. He hardly appears on the streets. Which is why I’m shocked you saw him last night.” Steve leaned his elbows on the table. “You sure it was the same guy?”

There was a full body photo, showing the man with his hands in his pockets. The outfit was exactly the same as Peter had seen. He shrugged and sipped the last of his coffee. “Small chance I’m wrong, but I’m pretty damn sure.”

“After you got off the subway, where did he go?” Clint asked, sitting backwards in a chair to face him.

“A place in Chinatown. Normal apartment building, nothing bad about it.”

The three men all looked at him, perplexed. Tony finally asked slowly, “You got an address?”

Peter shut his eyes for a moment and pursed his lips. “Can’t remember. But I can ask.”

“Ask who?”

“Deadpool.”

His hair bristled as Tony nearly screeched, “Deadpool? Why Deadpool?”

Peter grimaced and made a motion for Tony to calm down. He shuddered as his skin resettled. “He was following the guy, too. I saw him last night.”

“And you let him go?”

Glancing at Tony with confusion, he asked, “Who?”

“Deadpool!” Tony said again, this time a bit quieter.

Peter frowned and flexed his hands and arms, stretching. “Well, yeah. We patrol together sometimes.”

Tony looked like he was about to explode until Clint took his arm and squeezed it until Tony looked at him. Taking a breath, Tony tried to relax.

“You know who Deadpool is, right?” Clint asked in his stead.

Peter frowned again. “Of course.”

“So you know he’s a mercenary.”

“Yeah.”

“So you know he kills people for money.”

Confused, Peter said, “He used to. He doesn’t anymore.”

“Peter,” Steve started, “I think what they’re trying to say is that Deadpool is a dangerous criminal. I would have expected you to bring him in or—or...” Steve deflated.

“Fight him?” Clint proposed.

Peter felt like he was out of reality for a moment. “He helps me sometimes. He does good work. Why are you so upset?”

The way Tony was looking, he was about to have a heart attack.

Peter stood. “So I’ll get the address and send it to you guys, yeah? I’ll uh… I’ll be around the neighborhood for a while.”

No one tried to stop him as he escaped the room and fled down the hall. “Hey, Jarvis, can you—” He didn’t even finish his sentence before a panel window was opening near him. “Thanks!”

Without a thought, Peter jumped out, glad to feel the wind on his face, even as he activated his mask. He tossed out a web to catch himself as he passed floor after floor, eventually swinging back up, feet barely skimming the street below. A few people cheered as they noticed him and Peter did a little back flip for flair, waving.

A few minutes passed before he landed over in Central Park. Pulling out his phone, he shot off a quick text to Tony that said simply: _Let’s talk later_.

He pulled up the camera, made a peace sign, and took a selfie, immediately sending it to Wade with the caption: _Busy?_

A response dinged a few seconds later from Wade: _be there in a sec bby_

Peter smiled and settled in a tree to wait. He let the sounds of passersby drift over him. The snuffling of dogs, a bark here and there, was soothing to his nerves. Ever since the bite, Peter had become more attuned to animals. Humans were all mysteries wrapped in enigmas; animals were pretty predictable, and that made them prime friend material.

While Peter had considered getting a dog several times, he knew he couldn’t take care of one with his lifestyle. Hero by night, asleep all day. Sometimes he fit a few work hours in between. Besides, he had pets. If you could call them that, really. Just a few spiders that had been struggling in the streets and now lived around Peter’s place. He thought again about Wade’s question the night before.

Speak of the Devil, Peter heard Wade’s footfalls approaching from the south, still a few hundred feet away. He fell to the ground from his tree perch and folded his arms, leaning a hip to the trunk as he waited. Wade was right on time.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Wade greeted, out of breath. He let his hands rest on his knees. “I ran fast as I could.”

Peter laughed aloud. “You didn’t have to,” he teased.

Standing tall again, breathing deeply, Wade grinned. “Yeah, but I wanted to.” He moved to lean against the same tree but Peter stepped aside before Wade could enter his personal space. “Anyway, what’s up?” Wade asked.

He struck several poses, trying to find a comfortable way to lean that showed off his muscles. He was trying so hard that Peter took pity on him and led him over to a bench so they could sit awhile. Peter could tell he was thankful even if Wade didn’t say it.

“Remember that guy last night?”

“Yeah, dark and mysterious.” Wade waggled a few fingers for emphasis.

Peter smiled to himself. “You remember the address of the place we tracked him to?”

“Yep! I got that info filed away somewhere up here.” He pointed at his head. With one eye closed in concentration, he used his already lifted hand to rub his forehead like a magic lamp.

Amused, Peter kicked him in the shin, laughing when the man feigned great hurt.

“I’ll text it to ya, how about that?” Wade finally said.

“Perfect.”

Sending the text, Wade asked, “Hey if that’s all you needed, why’d you call me out here?”

This time, Peter was the one pouting. He petulantly crossed his arms. “What, I’m not allowed to invite you to hang out?”

“Oh, Spidey!” Wade gasped, clutching his heart. “You want to hang out with little old me?”

“Well, yeah. And...” Peter trailed off. He sighed inwardly and looked away. “I could use your help with a little something as well.”

Perking up, Wade asked, “Yeah? What’s the scoop?”

“Can you get me in to see Weasel tonight?” When Wade’s head tilted in confusion, Peter continued, “Normally I’d just call him, but it’s a little early for patrol and I’d—uh—I thought it might be nice for us to go over there. I’ve never actually been in the bar.”

“You and Weasel get along?” Wade’s voice was both confused and concerned.

Peter shrugged. “Not really, but he’s useful to me sometimes.”

Glad Wade couldn’t see past the mask, Peter grimaced. He didn’t need or want to tell Wade why he called up Weasel every once in a while. That was something for Weasel, and Weasel only to know.

“Huh.” Wade sounded like he didn’t believe him but he stood anyway and held out a hand. “Yeah, let’s hit the road, baby. Tacos later though, yeah?”

“Sure, whatever you want.”

“Tacos.” Wade grinned and his outstretched hand curled so just his pinky was free. Without question, Peter wrapped his own pinky around it, then he took Wade’s forearm and used it to pull himself to his feet. It was completely unnecessary, but it made Wade smile widely.

The walk over wasn’t too far, nor was it eventful. Peter had made it a point to brush arms with Wade as they walked side by side. It wasn’t terribly uncomfortable when Peter’s skin was covered in his suit, he and Tony had designed it to help tamp down the sensitivity of the little hairs all over his body. It was the reason that Peter slept in webs and not sheets, as well as the reason he was almost always in his suit, even if underneath clothing. The suit made everyday life bearable.

Peter also wanted to let Wade know by the casual touches that he really did want to hang out with the man. This wasn’t just a convenient way to get in contact with Weasel; he had extra time and wanted to spend it together with Wade, even if all they did was walk and talk and eat tacos.

Besides that, Peter had been feeling _off_ all day. He knew why, which was his reason for going to Weasel. He didn’t particularly like it, but when push came to shove, Weasel was the man with the cards. Literally. When night truly came, Peter knew he wouldn’t want to patrol with the way he was feeling. It was better to spend time with Wade while he could.

Their arrival garnered no looks. Wade walked in confidently, knowing his place in the world. Peter followed him a bit more meekly. He was surprised that no one even turned to look at the two red-clad figures. There was hardly a crowd to push through, but Wade still took Peter by the arm and led him through the room and to the bar. The two sat with relief and Wade slapped his hands on the counter.

Weasel wasn’t behind the bar. Instead it was manned by a woman who gave Wade one look, scoffed with a disgusted expression, and nodded her head to the door behind the bar. Ever the charmer, Wade winked.

“C’mon. We’re not here to drink, anyway.” Taking Peter by the arm, again, Wade dragged him through the door, past the half-kitchen room, across the storeroom, and finally up a flight of stairs. They landed on the torn and well-used carpet of an office. If you could call it—well, you know.

There were electrical parts, guns, folders, and other random items which probably had no business being in an office strewn about. Behind a desk, Weasel was squinting at a computer screen and typing something quickly.

He didn’t look up but said, “Fuck you want?”

Wade laughed. “Aw, Weas. My oldest and closest and most bestest friend—”

“Again, fuck you want?”

Gingerly stepping closer, Peter pulled away from Wade. “We were in the neighborhood.”

“It was Spidey’s idea actually,” Wade interjected.

“Wanted to check the place out?” Weasel asked, finally looking over. He pushed himself away from the desk and flopped back to laze in his chair. It was falling apart at the seams and the force of his movement seemed close to breaking it, but Weasel was completely unfazed.

“Guess so. Wade and I are gonna get tacos after this.”

“I made him pinky promise me, Weas. I got him this time!” Wade crowed. He fist pumped and both Weasel and Peter looked on, expressionless.

After a long, quiet moment, Weasel turned back to Peter. “Need something?”

With a hidden rueful smile, Peter said casually, “The usual.”

“Got one special just for you. Was saving it.” Weasel shrugged and turned back to his screen. Moments later he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a nondescript business card. He handed it to Peter who pocketed it with his phone without looking at it.

“Whoa, whoa, hold up.” Wade waved his hands around to get their attention. “Weas you’re giving him contracts? Spidey you’re taking contracts?”

Peter moved closer to him and patted a shoulder. “No, I’m not. I leave that stuff to, uh, you.”

“Yeah, no. I’m not gonna give out a contract to a fucking teenage mutant ninja turtle. Spider. Whatever.” Weasel sighed as if to prove his point. He looked about twenty seconds from passing out and the motion did not help him look any more awake.

“Dude you should sleep,” Wade said, noticing it the same time Peter did.

Still, Wade looked between them with narrowed eye slits. He crossed his arms and hummed a low note for far longer than was necessary for the scene.

Peter also crossed his arms, staring him down.

Eventually Weasel muttered, “Take your homo somewhere else,” which broke the spell.

“He’s right.” Peter brushed past to get to the door, not even thinking about correcting Weasel’s gay comment. He was beyond such lowly insults. Besides, Weasel knew full and well that Spider-Man was bisexual. Lord knows Wade had lamented enough about that fact to Weasel so often that Weasel had had to ask Peter himself to tell Wade to stop crying about it.

That led to an interesting conversation where Wade admitted that he liked Peter’s ass and Peter admitted that he thought Wade had very nice legs and so they decided mutually to never talk about it again. Not that Peter had forgotten about it. Not at all.

Regardless, he was hopping down the steps with renewed energy, calling out for Wade to follow him.

“All happy now?” Wade asked. “What was that about, anyway?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Peter didn’t even turn back to speak. “It’s something to take care of later.” He didn’t want to say when, exactly.

From behind him, Wade’s voice was hesitant but he said, “Sure, Spidey, if you say so.”

Peter didn’t really understand why Wade was being so quiet all of a sudden. They were on their way to tacos, he knew Wade loved just spending time with him no matter what they were doing, and they had just gone to see Wade’s (best?) friend.

“Still want tacos?” he asked when they were outside on the street. Peter turned and cocked his head invitingly.

Wade seemed to shake himself. “Hell yeah, baby boy! Let’s get to it!”

…

It was some time later that Peter returned home. Finally, he took out the card that Weasel had given him to find a name and address along with a time. Similar to the normal times he received, it read eleven thirty and a quick glance at his phone told Peter he had about two hours to kill.

He smiled to himself, a little joke.

He knew he didn’t always have to wait until the time given, but it was a helpful guideline to when the mark would be at the address given. A cursory glance online gave him a series of photos showing a middle-aged man with a small boy on his shoulders. Both were laughing and it was clear this man was a loving father. It appeared he was divorced, likely shared custody, and worked for a relatively normal construction agency. He seemed normal.

But, someone wanted him dead and Weasel had passed the contract on to him. Peter wasn’t technically lying to Wade—he wasn’t doing the same kind of work Wade did. He and Weasel had a… deal of sorts. It was a bit tasteless, but far better than Peter had been doing before he met Wade and got in contact with the middleman. Weasel gave him a little cut of the earnings, but Peter didn’t like taking the money. It made him feel dirty. Besides, he got what he needed without worrying about funding.

With a face in mind to put to the name, Peter shed his suit like skin and set his web shooters on his desk. It, along with his wardrobe, were practically the only furniture in the room. Since Peter didn’t use a bed anymore, he had a lot of space to spread out his things without the room feeling too overwhelmingly busy.

He fished out his secondary suit from his stash of hero related things that lived in a web cocoon underneath his larger, sleeping hammock. This suit was a bit different than his Spider-Man one, as he had made it himself for a very specific purpose.

Completely black, skintight, and reinforced with leather around his chest, arms, and feet, the suit was a far cry from Spider-Man, as it was meant to be. There was no cowl that accompanied this suit, but Peter donned a leather mask around his eyes, obscuring them and some of his features. His gloves and boots were also reinforced with leather, a functional style that had definitely not been inspired by Deadpool’s suit to make. In all reality, it was heavily based on the Deadpool suit.

The pants had a zippered pocket on one side where he stored his phone. All of the leather tamped down his ability to climb on various surfaces, so Peter left through his front door instead of the window. Upon reaching the street, Peter ducked into shadows, hiding himself in the dark of night.

Tonight, he was not Spider-Man. Tonight, he was a hunter.

Slinking along alleys and extending his senses to monitor the world around him was as natural to him as being Spider-Man. Now, he could really use his true abilities, shrugging off the limits of his hero persona.

When it was not happening, Peter liked to think of it as shifting into overdrive, regarding it humorously. When it did happen in these moments, there was nothing funny about it. Every week or two, even just for a night, Peter became someone—some _thing—_ else.

He hardly needed his eyes to see, so he closed them briefly, relying on his other senses to guide him through the city, unnoticed. It was not long until Peter reached the right neighborhood, then the right address.

It was an apartment building, fairly small, and it was easy to see through a few of the windows and determine that none of the current inhabitants were his victim. Peter spent a while hiding in plain sight, waiting around the corner. He might have looked relaxed if looked at closely, but it was a front. He was looking with eyes and ears for any signs.

Eventually, he relocated to a fire escape nearby with a view of the front entrance to the building. There, at least, he could prepare without any eyes on him. Teeth and jaw already aching, Peter huffed unnaturally through his mouth, lips parted as he tried to ignore the phantom pain. This wasn’t unusual, but an annoying side effect. In an attempt to distract himself from the eerie feeling, he rubbed a thumb over his wrist, massaging the little spinnerets located at the very base of each palm.

He hardly used them anymore unless he was adding webbing to his home or on nights like this. The silk he produced was strong and sure, easier to build webs which lasted a long time unlike his synthetic silk which was meant to be only temporary. The synthetic stuff would be useless to him when he hunted.

As he was starting to calm himself again, he caught a glimpse of a man walking towards the building he was watching. When he passed under a streetlamp, Peter saw his face. Creeping into a crouching position, Peter waited until the man entered the building before he climbed back to the ground, watching for lights to turn on in any windows.

Bingo. Peter’s sight zeroed in on the window in question as the curtain was pushed aside just enough so the man could open it a few inches. He grinned, and if anyone were to look, they would surely see dripping fangs and a hunger so intense it could only be sated by one thing.

But Peter knew how to bide his time. He was not a spider for nothing if he moved too quick and lost his chance. Through movement and light, he tracked the man through the apartment until it appeared the man had stopped exploring. Several minutes were spent in a bedroom, but Peter did not yet dare move. After a few more minutes, the man went back into what appeared to be a kitchen from this far away.

Now it was time.

Peter slid from the fire escape to the ground, landing silently in the shadows. He effortlessly blended with the few people on the street and crossed at the crosswalk from a nearby intersection. No one gave his outfit a second glance. As soon as he was near, he ducked into the alley behind the building and was soon out of view, having easily jumped high enough to grab onto the windowsill of a dark apartment above. He hopped his way to the roof then down the side of the building where his mark had left a window open. Peering in, Peter surmised he was still in the kitchen area and very quietly lifted the window just enough to slip in and then shut it fully.

Almost crouching, Peter snuck up to where the man was standing, watching the microwave as something spun around inside. Instantly, Peter struck with a web to the back of his head and pulled him to the floor with a loud _thunk_ , knocking the man out cold. The microwave beeped menacingly as Peter pulled the body away and began wrapping it with webs from his wrists, spinning him around.

Before his work was complete, Peter left room for himself to lean in and bite into the flesh of the man’s neck on both sides, then in the skin just above his beating heart, and once more on his stomach. When the wrapping was complete, Peter went around the apartment turning off the lights one by one until they were left in complete darkness.

The now fully webbed man shivered a bit and then fell deadly silent. A few minutes later, Peter could no longer detect a heartbeat. He smiled viciously and picked up the body to hold over one shoulder, fireman style. The weight meant nothing to Peter and the promise of a warm meal had his mouth watering in moments.

Getting his prey back home was always the most troublesome, but Peter had developed a somewhat foolproof method over the years. Depending on the location, he would sometimes simply wait with the body until it was ready to eat. When that wasn’t an option, he would wrap the body in whatever kind of plain sheets he could find at the location, take out the jumbo sized black sharpie that he kept in this suit, and draw a dumb face over the victim’s head area.

It sounds absolutely ridiculous, but Peter managed to get by with the “I’m wearing a costume and this is a prop” gambit. The trick relied on the avoidance of police, but nary a soul in the middle of the night would have the balls to ask “Is that a real body?”.

After this plan worked many a time, Peter stopped being nervous about it and it became more of a joke. Every time, he would try to draw a different kind of face—sometimes happy, sometimes angry or sad—and it, perhaps surprisingly, worked.

So, Peter did just that, hauling the body to the bedroom to fish out something suitable to wrap him in, give him a crying sad face, and hold him under his arm like he weighed nothing. It was best when rigor mortis set in so Peter often would wait long enough for the body to tighten up in a laying position.

This night, like many others, went perfectly. It must have been a slow weekday because Peter hardly had to avoid anyone on the streets and managed to snag a subway car with only a teen engrossed with his phone and an old woman who was snoring loudly. Peter didn’t hear a single word from passersby, and he ducked into an alley as a cop car with its lights on drove past quickly.

There was a building nearby to Peter’s that was mostly uninhabited—it had sustained damage in some hero versus villain fight or something—which Peter brought his meals to. Walls had caved in one corner of the building at ground level and the neighboring apartments were deemed too hazardous to live in, so Peter had chosen one of those. It was partially damaged so it was unlikely anyone would enter, and Peter had broken the front door, webbed it shut permanently, and blacked out all of the windows.

Inside, it truly felt like a spider’s den. There were cobwebs over parts of the walls and in corners, covering the bare furnishings that had been left behind. A layer of dust had settled over the rooms as well, hardly quelling the stench of death that permeated the impossibly dark bedrooms.

Every few months or so, Peter would get the urge to clean his nest of old, desiccated bodies. Mostly, he liked webbing them into individual cocoons, usually thick enough to help with the smell. He had recently cleared out the apartment so there was only one other corpse where Peter dragged his freshly dead prey in.

“Home sweet home,” Peter said aloud, almost scaring himself with the sound of his voice echoing more than he had expected. That was… interesting.

Peter investigated the main room of the apartment as he had time to waste before his kill of the night would be ready. He could not hear anything out of place, nor see anything different than how he had last left it. He only visited when he needed to, and if anyone else had been here he supposed it would have been cleared out and taped off by police.

Humming to himself, Peter analyzed the waves of his own voice and went to the front door. There, he noticed that his webs had been partially cut through. There was no way they would have decayed from around this doorway; someone had to have done this by hand.

Still, it didn’t appear as though anyone had made it through the door in either direction, but someone had been trying to get in. Frowning to himself, Peter tore away the cut webbing and laid new silk across the door, a bit heavier than he had previously. His wrists were starting to hurt as he was using up his silk reserves, so he left it at that.

Returning to his recent kill, Peter felt that something was off. Something was wrong. But it felt like it was outside of the nest. Nothing to keep him from eating. He knelt by his meal and lifted the body into his arms to remove the ruined sheet. He threw it into a closet with others from previous victims.

Taking off his gloves, Peter pressed into the areas where he had injected venom into the body and they felt nice and squishy. He moved enough web out of the way to sink his teeth into the body’s neck and used his hands to encourage the now goopy, gelatinous meat of the human up to the throat.

He was not so far gone into his instincts and urges, unlike other times, that he was able to enjoy this meal. Eagerly, Peter ripped open the wound on the throat to more easily get the larger pieces of flesh out of the way, chewing on organs and savoring the heart as it came out half rotted. Peter ate his fill happily, and when he was done, he fixed the webbing around the body and placed him next to last week’s kill.

“You two behave,” Peter said as he put on his gloves and licked his teeth clean. “I’ll be back soon.”

With that, he left the death apartment, making his way through some of the rubble until he was outside and returned to his own home leisurely. But when he arrived, he could feel that something was very, very wrong.

He couldn’t tell just what yet, not from outside. But he had this feeling in his gut like something terrible was about to happen. Sometimes he could feel bad juju in the air, but this was different. This was altogether something new, and Peter was afraid.

He took a side door into the building and climbed the stairs cautiously until he approached his front door. The feeling was stronger than ever and when he listened, he could hear breathing on the other side of the door. When Peter tried the handle, the door was unlocked, so he silently crept inside, knowing by heart all the right ways to avoid the floorboards creaking and the door clicking shut.

It was dark. No lights had been lit, but Peter didn’t need any light to see. His eyes were far more enhanced than even many spiders. Regardless of sight, though, Peter would be able to identify the figure before him by any one of his senses.

Very quietly, and in a half-crouch, Peter asked, “Why are you here?”

From across the room came the words, “Why were you not?”

“Is that your business?” Peter stood taller, trying to look more relaxed though his words were more tense than he was intending.

Like a scene from a bad movie, a lamp flickered to life beside the occupied couch and Peter was actually a little taken aback. He had known, quite obviously, that it was Wade waiting for him, but Wade also had his mask off. Despite that, his face was unreadable.

“It is when you’re wearing a new mask and doing things Spider-Man never would.”

Peter tried not to grimace, but he’s sure he must have shown some emotion on his face. Reaching up, he took off the leather mask he had been wearing and tossed it to the coffee table in front of Wade. “So?”

“ _So?_ ”

Wade stood and Peter’s senses, which had been still pointing to something being wrong, flared even more to life. Inadvertently, he took a step back, bringing him closer to the door.

“So, what the fuck are you hiding from me?” Wade’s tone was dark, no nonsense.

“Nothing that you need to be concerned about,” Peter said.

Wade took a step towards him. “I know you killed someone tonight. Don’t even try to deny it. I fucking _saw_ you.

“You were following me?”

“You took a contract from Weasel! How could you expect me not to follow up on you?”

Peter stepped forward angrily, motioning with his hand that Wade stop. “That’s my deal, not yours. What I do is none of your business, Wade.”

“You _killed_ someone!”

“So have you!”

Standing his ground, Wade growled, “I was a soldier. A villain. You’re a goddamn superhero, Peter.”

“How do you know my name?” Peter asked, startled.

“I’ve always known, from the beginning.” Wade didn’t look a dime guilty. “You never told me, so I never asked. That’s not what matters here!”

“Well, that matters to me.”

“I’m looking you in the face right now, Pete. No mask to hide yourself behind right now.” Wade’s voice softened just a bit. “I’m worried about you. Why did you take the contract? Why did you murder that man?”

Peter, taken aback by the confession, recoiled. “Why do you care what I do? Just because I’m your little superhero crush? Because you idolize me?”

“Because I care about you!” Wade shouted. He paused, realizing that Peter didn’t immediately answer. Very softly this time, he said, “I care about you. You’re my friend.”

With a sigh of defeat, Wade stepped back and sat heavily on the couch. He held his head in his hands. “Did I do something wrong? Did I make you think it’s okay to kill people because that’s what I do?”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Peter asked, now entirely confused.

“You have to have a reason for this. I can’t think of anything other than me being a bad influence on you,” Wade said wearily.

Peter huffed, intending to lash out again, when he realized that Wade was genuinely upset about this. Instead, he went over and sat beside the other man, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t sure if he meant it.

He had two options right now, it seemed. He could tell Wade the ugly truth: confess that he had killed many, many more before this night and that it was his curse from his powers that he had become more like a spider than he’d ever thought as he’d aged. Or, he could agree with Wade: tell him that yes, it was his fault, and no Peter would never do it again.

Option one sounded like the best way to drive Wade out of his life because how could the man stand to be in the same room as this liar and killer. Option two would certainly break Wade’s heart and he’d likely leave Peter alone, claiming it was better that way, and Peter would continue to take contracts in secret, forcing Weasel to lie even more to Wade. Neither option was preferable.

There was a third, unexplored option where Peter could just quit being Spider-Man, damn the consequences, and avoid seeing Wade or Weasel for the rest of his days.

“Just tell me one thing,” Wade asked, breaking the tense quiet between them. “Is it my fault?”

 _Well, Parker, what’s it gonna be?_ he thought to himself.

“Okay, so, just—” Peter started then stopped, getting up from the couch to pace around. He was gesturing with his hands almost wildly. “It’s not you, it’s me. Wait—no, no, no, not like that.” Peter shook his head, then sighed. “Let me explain.”

“Explain what?” Wade was looking at him now, face absurdly confused. He really had thought it was his fault?

Peter grumbled under his breath and turned away. “So, okay. I might have not been completely honest about my, uh, my powers?” He framed it like a question, looking back to Wade with a deep grimace. “Um, so, only like two other people know so it’s not like I just talk about this all the time, okay?”

Wade was silently watching him, mouth partially hanging open.

“I mean, it only started a couple of years ago, as I was growing out of my teens. I guess puberty brought other changes.” Peter didn’t even try to smile; Wade was nonplussed. Taking a huge breath and letting it out slowly, he sat again on the coffee table directly in front of Wade.

“I, uh, what I mean to say is… well, I eat people?”

When he looked up, he saw that Wade’s eyes were wide and his mouth more agape. It didn’t seem like Wade was even breathing for a moment before he took in a gasp of breath. Before he could speak, Peter waved his hands.

“It’s only bad people! I used to have a lot of trouble with it because how do I know someone is bad enough to be dead? I can’t make that call! So after a while I was like, oh shit Wade gets contracts to kill bad people from Weasel so what if I go to Weasel and maybe he can point me in the right direction, yeah?” Peter was talking so fast he was running out of air. “Then, eventually Tony found me out because he was all like ‘Peter you’re still a child and I need to keep tabs on you’, but I was careful about it and one day he decided to like check up on me I guess and he found out and confronted me about it? It was bad but he understands now and sometimes he gets targets for me but mostly it’s Weasel and I—”

“Shut up!” Wade yelled, causing Peter to immediately snap his mouth shut.

Peter looked at the floor and tucked his hands between his knees, biting the inside of his cheek.

After a moment, Wade sighed heavily. Gently, he asked, “Is there anything else?”

“I produce my own venom that I have to use. And I—fuck I don’t want to say this.” Peter pointedly was only looking at the floor now.

Wade leaned closer. “Tell me, now.”

It was hard to say no to that tone, so Peter said, “If I don’t—if I don’t, y’know, _eat_ often enough I go a little, um, crazy?”

“How often?”

“Usually one to two weeks between. Depends sometimes.”

“What do you mean _crazy_?”

Oh, right, Peter knew Wade hated that word. He glanced up with only his eyes to see the firm lines of Wade’s face as he waited for an answer. Turning his head to the side, Peter said quietly, “The spider part of me starts to take over. If I go a really long time… I start to lose control of myself.”

“You’ve done that before, I take it?” Wade asked, his voice now closer and softer. Pitying.

“I was young. I didn’t know what to do! I didn’t know what was happening.” The memory of that time in Peter’s life was hazy and distant but full of anger and blood.

The first time Peter bit someone, it was an accident. He had been feeling weak and dizzy and his head had been hurting like hell. All he knew was that he was hungry, but no matter how much food he ate, he wasn’t satisfied. He had been out of his mind, huddled in an alley trying to pick food from a dumpster. Money was still tight in those days, and he was still living with May.

A shopkeeper from nearby happened to see him, just as a young boy and not Spider-Man, but when he tried to stop Peter, his instincts told him to bite. And he did. Many times, watching in horror as the man writhed in agony before dying, right there in front of him. Peter completely lost himself, taking the body behind the dumpsters in an effort to hide as he tore open the man’s chest and ate his heart, just as his venom’s accelerated necrosis started to sink in.

Peter hid the body with the trash. He never did learn if it was found or not, but he was so appalled with himself and his disturbing actions that he locked himself up in his room for days. Days turned to weeks and before long a month had gone by. At that point, Peter knew he had to feed again, but he was trying so hard to stave it off. He was disgusted, wallowing in self-hatred, and he had even tried to bite himself with his venom in the effort of trying to end his own life.

It didn’t work, unsurprisingly. As he went longer and longer without killing, he began to notice changes in himself. He was growing irritable and rash, lashing out at May and Ned, nearly going as far as hurting Ned. He held it back, but he knew he had scared his friend terribly.

He got on a train, then a bus, then another bus, trying to get as far away from New York City as he could. Several days passed until he was lost, somewhere in the middle of the state and almost feral. He found a deer in a forested area and killed it. Though it was food, it was not satisfying. He found a town and passed through, trying to stay hidden, until he found a dock at a river not far away. The next person to come to the dock was a woman who was going fishing. Before she could even sit down, Peter had her webbed and dragged her away.

The memory of eating her haunted Peter’s nightmares. He hadn’t known a thing about her, but he ate her heart anyway.

Brought back to the present with Wade’s hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly, Peter swallowed the lump in his throat and looked up. Wade was wearing that pitying look again and Peter pulled back from his reach, frowning.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“Lost you there for a sec, you alright?” Wade asked, leaning away as well to give him some space.

Peter shook his head. “Sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered, covering his face with his hands as he started to cry. He had shed so many tears over the innocents he’d killed and the mistakes he’d made, but he could never cry enough to make up for it.

Wade seemed to hesitate for a long moment. Then, Peter felt arms around him, lifting him to the couch where Wade hugged him tightly. He rested his chin on top of Peter’s head and squeezed him, almost but not quite hard enough to hurt. Peter wouldn’t mind if it hurt.

“It’s okay, baby boy,” Wade mumbled to him. “It’s not your fault. You’re okay.”

“I try not to hurt them. I make sure they’re not awake and it’s quick if I do it right.” Peter curled into Wade’s lap, sniffling. “Tony says there’s no way to fix it. It’s part of me now.”

“Hush, you don’t have to explain.”

“It’s okay if you hate me now. I hate me now, too.”

“I don’t hate you,” Wade whispered. “Thank you for telling me.”

Peter pulled away, just far enough to look at Wade’s face as the arms around him did not loosen. “You don’t?” Peter wiped his nose with his hand. “You should.”

“Why would I hate you for something you can’t control?” Wade asked. His voice was so soft and low, speaking to him like he was a wild animal. Peter supposed that argument could be made.

“Because… because you don’t want me to kill people? You were mad at me,” Peter just barely said the last words, afraid of Wade becoming mad again.

Wade just pulled him in tighter. “I’m sorry, Petey. I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you. I didn’t understand, but I do now.” Sighing, he added, “I don’t hate you because you’re so good. You’re so good at helping people, and fighting crime, and being a nerd, and you’re way too loveable for me to ever really hate you.”

Peter clung to him until his tears dried and then gently wriggled away so he could look at Wade but keep one arm around himself. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“Hey, that’s okay. I totally get why you didn’t trust me enough to.” When Peter flinched Wade quickly said, “No, that’s not what I meant! Not trust, but—no, you wanted to keep it a secret from everyone. And that’s okay, really, Petey.”

Peter was skeptical, but who was he to argue that? Already, Wade’s reaction was lightyears better than how he thought things would turn out between them. They could still be friends. “Thanks, Wade for—for, uh, not hating me.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, since tonight seems to be all confessions, can I confess something?” Wade asked with a wry smile.

“Um, sure?”

Wade leaned in very close to whisper into Peter’s ear, “Do you know the other reason I couldn’t ever hate you?”

Peter shook his head.

“Because then I’d never get the chance to kiss you. And I would really like to kiss you now.”

“Oh, um...” With wide eyes, Peter looked at him. Seeing no malintent in Wade’s eyes, Peter felt himself blush. “I haven’t brushed my teeth or anything since I… y’know.”

Sagely, Wade nodded. “Another time, then. Don’t worry.”

“I-I mean I _want_ to, I just—”

Wade’s hand came up to cup the back of Peter’s head and they were kissing. Peter’s entire body suddenly shivered, all of his hairs standing on end uncomfortably beneath his clothes.

“Woah, you okay?” Wade asked quickly, immediately noticing the shift in Peter’s body.

Forcing himself to relax with a deep breath, Peter said, “Yeah, yes. Sorry. My skin is very sensitive. Perks of being a spider, I guess.” Peter shrugged and met Wade’s eyes which were full of curiosity. “Wait, hold—”

This time, Wade gripped Peter’s hair, not too tightly, and kissed him harder, making Peter’s body react in the same way. When his hand slid to Peter’s neck, he shuddered almost violently and pushed Wade away.

“Wait, wait, wait. Please,” Peter panted. He shuffled and scooted back so they now sat at opposite ends of the couch.

“Shit, sorry! Did I hurt you?” Wade asked, waving his hands uselessly.

Peter shook his head. “No, I’m okay. I just need a moment.” He took deep, steady breaths, counting them in and out until his heartbeat was more or less regulated again. When he looked up, Wade was watching with worried eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Peter assured him. “I’m not used to people touching me and I’m not wearing my suit. It dampens the effects, otherwise I’d have reactions like that all the time with something as simple as a car alarm.” When he felt relaxed, he moved closer again, glad when Wade didn’t automatically reach out to him. Peter rested their shoulders together.

“So, does that mean touching is off-limits?”

Peter gave a small smile and said, “No. We’ll just have to test the waters.”

Looking at him intently, Wade asked, “Wait, are you a virgin?”

Bright red and caught off guard, Peter spluttered, “No! I’m not a-a virgin. I’ve had sex!” When Wade didn’t respond, Peter cleared his throat. “I haven’t in a while. Not since… since my skin has gotten like this. I used to be more normal, when I was still a teen.”

“Honey, that ass ain’t never been normal,” Wade quipped. He laughed when Peter scoffed.

Peter’s hand was caught when he tried to smack Wade in the chest with it, but Wade simply threaded their fingers.

“This okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this fic I have Peter as more of a spider than he was when he was first bit. So like a spider he now has physical changes like his own mini spinnerets, fangs-sort-of, venom based on that of a brown recluse spider, and he literally has to eat people: but only the bad ones. And he isn't happy about it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! If you see any mistakes let me know! And yes, hopefully I will continue this and we can all figure out who Harvey is...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not as long as the first one, but expect that. The first chapter was just me throwing everything out there lol. Please enjoy more plot shenanigans.

Peter was caught off guard when he woke that evening and his apartment was being invaded.

Well, not invaded. More like a warm body was putzing around in his tiny kitchen, rummaging through cupboards. Peter reached out with his senses and he calmed when he realized it was Tony out there.

Still, how odd.

Waking more and stretching, he climbed from his nest to put on his suit to give himself some modicum of decency after sleeping buck naked. He hoped Tony hadn’t seen.

“What are you doing here?” Peter asked around a yawn. He was sleepy, and this was the second day in a row that Tony had awoken him before his normal hour. Spiders need beauty sleep, too.

Tony turned his head, surprised. “Oh, you’re awake.”

“Barely.”

“I was hoping you had coffee.”

Shrugging, Peter hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter. “Not really. I haven’t shopped in a while.”

He felt it unnecessary to explain why. Tony would just look at him, disgusted. Not Peter’s fault that he had to supplement his diet with something a little less kosher than Tony liked.

“Right.” Tony sighed and shut the cabinet he had been searching in. “I’ll get right to it. We got a lead on this Harvey guy.”

Peter perked up slightly. “Yeah? What’s the scoop?”

“Easy, kiddo. It’s not all that exciting,” Tony said mildly. Crossing his arms and leaning against the fridge he continued, “That building you followed him to? Well it’s owned by Fisk.”

“Fisk owns a lot of buildings.”

“I know, but this one seems different. There’s been no construction, no renovations since he bought it out. And to top it off, hardly anybody lives there.” Tony scratched the stubble on his cheek, looking pensive. “Look, I don’t know if this guy is up to anything bad or if Fisk has something going on here, but I’d like to find out.”

Peter leaned forward to ask, “And you want me to check it out?”

Tony nodded. “You’re the best stealth we’ve got right now. Bird brains has been keeping tabs on the exits all day—”

“Which one?”

“Clint. Anyway, he says he saw Harvey leaving an hour ago.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Peter asked around another yawn.

Tony shrugged, “Wanted to have coffee ready so you wouldn’t be so grumpy. I’m surprised you’re not being grumpy right now. You get laid or something?”

Peter knew Tony was joking but he couldn’t help a sly smile and a wink. “Something like that,” he laughed. He waved a hand. “Guess I’ll head out now. Unless there’s something else?”

His instinct was right as Tony sighed. “Yeah.” Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand he continued, “Sorry. For yesterday.”

“Oh?” Peter raised his eyebrows. He then patted Tony’s shoulder. “No worries, I didn’t take offense.” Grabbing his mask, Peter headed for the window and said genially, “Since you know your way in, I assume you can let yourself out.” With a smile, he left.

Activating the coms in his mask, he called Clint and quickly picked up his signal. “I’m nearby, Robin Hood.”

“Dude, really?” Clint’s voice came back, a little staticky. “I’m on the east side. Roof is clear but the door is probably locked. Third story has a few open windows to one place.”

“You got any idea where Mr. Bad Guy lives?”

Peter landed on the roof lightly just as Clint replied, “Not yet. He left with one other guy, though.”

Humming in response Peter tried the door to the stairwell and found it locked. With little effort, he pulled the handle hard enough to rip it cleanly from the door. Sticking a couple of fingers through the new hole, he tugged until the deadbolt above broke, allowing the door to be swung open. The whole affair had taken but a few seconds and Peter was inside, closing the door behind himself as if it would matter.

“Guess I’m working top down.”

“I can tell you which apartments are occupied right now, no telling which one is his or if anyone is in there,” Tony’s voice spoke through Peter’s coms.

The whole building was but five stories tall and the top floor was completely empty. Some of them had tape over the doors like they were condemned. With his superior hearing and instincts, Peter could tell that none of these apartments had any sort of furniture—or people—in them.

“Five is clear, heading down,” he said quietly.

“You’ve got two on this floor, 4A and 4B across from each other.”

Stealthily crawling around, Peter identified that all of the other apartments were clear, and the others had several people in them. One with obvious sounds of young children, so he ruled that one out. The other had two people in it and a TV on with the news playing quietly. Beyond that, he could hear the sounds of cooking. It smelled like chili and hotdogs.

“Clear.”

Moving down the stairwell he could hear someone walking in the hallway of the third floor. They went to a door and knocked several times. The door opened and Peter heard a woman’s voice cheerily say, “Hey! It’s good to see you, come on in!” Poking his head around until he could see, Peter took note of the door that was now closing.

“Alright, what’s next?”

Clint spoke up, “Hold on, you’ve got someone coming in downstairs.”

Peter listened it, ready to move if he needed to. Thankfully, the person unlocked a door on the ground floor with a heavy sigh.

“I’m good,” Peter told them.

“Good,” Tony said, “third floor has 3A, B, D, and E.

“The one with open windows just had company arrive,” Clint reported.

“That one’s clear, I saw them enter.” Peter moved on to check the other three apartments and cleared all three which contained couples and a few children. “This floor is good.”

As he made his way down one more floor, Peter was struck with a sudden feeling of absolute dread. The stench of blood was thick, at least to him. It was coming from the end of the hallway and was fresh. Too fresh.

“Shit,” Peter mumbled.

“What?” the other two asked in unison.

Peter ran quick and quiet to the apartment giving off the strong scent and listened very closely. Tuning out the other, normal noises from other people in the building, he could hear someone trying to breathe but choking on something which Peter surmised was the blood he was smelling. He also heard slow footsteps, then the sound of a sink turning on.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Tony asked fervently.

“Shh!” Peter hissed.

The door was locked, but only by the handle, and Peter was able to break it quickly and with as little noise as he could. Pushing it open and slipping inside. Hopping to cling to the ceiling, Peter made his way further in and saw a woman tied to a chair in the dining room, the source of the blood and choking.

She was coughing now, gasping for breath but alive. Her shirt was cut open and she had a stab wound in her chest, inexpertly done and between her ribs, likely having punctured a lung but missing her heart. There was also a gash along her neck and heading to her shoulder which was bleeding profusely.

In the kitchen was a man who was shaking, washing his hands of blood in the sink and rubbing his skin raw. A large knife lay on the floor by the woman’s chair, drips of blood staining the carpet and leading to the kitchen.

“Call an ambulance, now!” he said to the others just before swinging down and catching the man in the side with a strong kick. It knocked him down and he slid across the floor into some cabinets. Peter immediately followed with a web to the chest and shoulder, sticking the man where he landed.

“What the hell is going on?” Clint asked urgently.

Moving to the woman, Peter grabbed a small towel that had been laying on the stove. First, he freed her hands and pushed the towel against her ribs.

“Hold this,” he said quickly. The woman was breathing wetly but had enough sense about her to follow the order. Then, Peter carefully covered the wound on her neck with webs trying to stop the flow of blood.

Tony was shouting something in his ear so Peter explained sharply, “It’s not our guy, but a woman was stabbed. She’s lost a lot of blood.”

“Oh, shit. Paramedics are on the way.”

Tony barked out, “Clint, keep your eyes peeled for movement in or out for Harvey.”

“He’s not going to come back if there are sirens around here,” Clint argued.

“I know. Just fucking do it anyway, okay?” Tony sounded exasperated. “Peter, I’m coming in.”

“Don’t,” Peter told him. “You’ll just draw more attention! This is my neighborhood, I’m a lot less suspicious.”

“Fine,” Tony grumbled. “Medics are two minutes out.”

Huffing with annoyance, Peter turned his attention back to the woman. Her breaths were coming shorter and shorter and her lips turning blue. With strong hands, Peter took over holding the towel in place, not too tightly, but it was already starting to soak with blood. With his other hand, he pushed gently on her uninjured shoulder, helping her to sit up straighter and encourage air flow.

She was staring at him with wide, wild eyes. Her lips moved like she wanted to speak but she could not make a sound other than her raspy gasps. Peter worried she was about to go into shock when he heard the sound of sirens in the distance and getting closer.

“Second floor, end of the hall, door is open,” Peter informed Tony.

“Got it.”

Taking a moment to glance to the kitchen, he saw Mr. Stabby struggling against the webs, but unable to free himself.

When he noticed Peter looking, he yelled, “Let me out, idiot! She deserves to die!”

Peter ignored him and looked back at the woman. “Hey, stay with me,” he said softly. “Keep looking at me, help is coming.”

Thought her eyes were fluttering, she appeared to hear him and tried to focus on him. One of her hands had loosely wrapped around his holding the towel, the other hanging limply at her side. Peter realized her life was literally in his hands.

“Come on, come on,” he urged, gritting his teeth.

The moments that passed before two paramedics and three police officers burst through the door felt like eons. The paramedics pushed him out of the way, immediately tending to the woman as the officers moved past to the still webbed down man.

One of them turned to Peter to ask brusquely, “What happened?”

“I was nearby and noticed a commotion,” Peter told them as one pulled a gun and another handcuffs. “When I got in, she was already bleeding, and he was at the sink. Literally red-handed.” Peter was attempting to keep his voice steady and professional. Inside, he was writhing with upset and lingering dread.

“I didn’t touch anything but him,” Peter pointed to the shaking, again, man who was now threatened with a gun should he move, “and the towel for her.”

The officer nodded and Peter moved towards the guy. By the collar of his shirt, Peter lifted him from the floor and out of the webbing, holding him so the officer with handcuffs could take his wrists.

By then, the man had enough wits about him to shout, “Let me go! He’s lying! I didn’t do anything!”

Ignoring his pleas, one of the officers began reading him his rights and taking him out of the apartment. More paramedics had arrived, and they were handling the woman well enough that Peter felt he could follow the officers outside.

In the hallway, a few curious tenants were peeking from their doorways. A fourth officer was telling them all to go back inside, everything was being taken care of. Peter didn’t notice anything, or anyone, out of the ordinary in this hall. Even pausing to listen, there were no signs to help them in the hunt for Harvey.

Peter cautiously went to the ground floor and crept further into the hall as the entrance was filled with people and flashing lights. As a just in case measure, Peter called quietly, “Tony?”

“I’m here. Everything alright?”

“Some jerk tied her up and stabbed her with a kitchen knife. He was inexperienced, she should make it. No signs of—hang on,” Peter ended abruptly, standing near a door which was opening faster than he could do more than step back.

Out walked a woman looking far too highbrow for this part of the city. She stopped short when she saw him just as Peter did.

Recovering first out of instinct, Peter awkwardly waved. “Oh, hello miss! Don’t worry about the noise upstairs, everything’s being taken care of.”

“Oh!” The woman blinked a few times before she recovered as well.

“I’m just making sure everyone else is safe,” Peter quickly added, taking another step away. “Have a nice night! And stay safe,” he said kindly.

The woman looked back into the apartment she was leaving, then shut the door and locked it as she said, “Of course. Keep, uh, fighting the good fight.” She ended the sentence more like a question but stuck her keys in a little black purse she was carrying and gave a nervous smile.

Peter watched her leave the building from the corner of his eye. “Woman leaving now, nice clothes, dark hair,” he whispered.

Clint’s voice came back, “I see her.”

“I’m going to take a little looksee into her place. 1D for the record. Can’t say anyone has ever reacted like that to me before.” Shaking his head slightly, Peter moved back in and laid his ear against the door.

Inside, he heard someone pacing back and forth as they dialed a call. Peter caught a crackly voice pick up on the other side of the call say, “The fuck is going on?”

The one inside the apartment, a man by his voice, said in a hushed tone, “Cops and paramedics showed up, something happened on the second floor.”

“Anybody check on you?”

“No. Harvey just left. Spider-Man is here, but with the cops.” Peter jolted slightly. As if it would help him hear, he pressed his ear harder against the wood.

“Good. Anybody comes knocking, you know what to do.”

“Yeah, boss,” the man said as the line cut off. He let out a deep breath and Peter heard the scrape of a chair as it was pulled out before it was sat in. Retreating quickly, Peter ran up the stairwell.

When he was back on the roof, he said, “Tag that girl. She’s Harvey.”

“What?” Tony was incredulous.

“And get somebody in 1D. Sounds like they’re not moving yet but there’s one guy in there right now. He was on the phone with someone else he called ‘boss’.”

“Damn. Alright.”

Peter crouched at the edge of the roof above the main entrance. “Clint, where’s she going?”

“Heading south, direct ahead. She stopped to make a call and dumped her phone in a dumpster.”

“Thanks.” Peter took off south, swinging up onto buildings as he ran over them, eventually catching sight of her.

Bolting ahead, Peter clung to the side of a building with one hand and foot. He pulled his phone out, started up the camera, and aimed it at her. He was able to get two photos that showed her face before she managed to hail a taxi and get in. Thumbing over the photos, Peter frowned.

He climbed up to sit on the roof, feet over the edge. He texted the pictures to Tony and, separately, Wade. In his message to Wade he wrote: _Recognize her?_

In his ear, Tony said, “Nice job. Still on her?”

“She got in a taxi, east. Could be anywhere,” Peter said, shaking his head to himself. “Anything on her apartment?”

“It’s not under any name of Harvey. Someone named Aaron Bolt started renting three months ago. Bills have been paid on time.” Tony hummed briefly. “Not much about this guy. Some misdemeanors when he was a teen, a charge for assault more recently that was dropped. I’ll get facial recognition on our girl going.”

“Sounds good. Call me when you get a hit.” Peter switched the call off and got to his feet. He raised his hands above his head to stretch and took a step forward off the building, catching himself with a web and a holler. He probably had some time to waste fighting crime before Tony would call him up.

Police chatter clued him in on a robbery in progress a few blocks south and Peter quickly changed directions to take care of it. With minimal property damage, Peter wrapped up the armed perpetrators quickly and left the rest to the police.

He moved from emergency to emergency for a few hours until he paused to check Wade’s response to his text.

It read: _looks familiar?? no clu wher from_

Peter replied with a succinct: _Helpful._

 _I try ;)_ was all he got in reply and Peter helplessly smiled to himself. Then Wade said: _want 2 hang out??_

A little shiver went through Peter’s body as he remembered suddenly the night (morning) before. He’d been a bit caught up with Tony and hero stuff that he had hardly thought about it. Not that much had happened; he and Wade had watched a film together, their hands the only point of contact between them, but even that was a bit overwhelming to Peter. The longer they sat, however, the more relaxed he felt. Still, the shiver was a mix of apprehension and excitement.

He didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but he knew his reply and hastily texted: _Your place or mine?_

After it sent, he immediately groaned and added: _Not like that. I meant like where to meet._

_I got the xbox & portal 2 at mine?_

Peter breathed a sigh of relief, but it caught in his throat when not two seconds later another message came in which read: _knew u just wanted the d ;)_

A moment later: _d as in deadpool obvs_

Peter laughed at that one aloud and shook his head. As he was setting off, he typed quickly: _omw_

With that, Peter felt that shiver again but elected to ignore it for the time being. He focused instead on the traffic accident along the way to Wade’s apartment. By the time he reached his destination, he had all but forgotten that funny feeling.

Entering through a window, Peter called out, “Wade? You’d better not be naked this time.”

“It was one time!” Wade’s voice echoed over to him from his bedroom. “And I was wearing a robe!”

Laughing, Peter flopped onto the couch as he waited for Wade to mosey over.

It didn’t take long. Soon, Wade was hopping over the back of the couch next to him, threatening to break the damn thing like he did every time. Peter swore it was magic that kept this thing together the way Wade treated it.

Wade was wearing normal clothes, a hoodie and jeans, and was not wearing his mask or gloves. Peter felt a little sheepish and slid his mask off, still unused to baring his face. As Wade watched him, he was smiling, pleased as pie. Peter set the mask out of the way and tried very hard not to be awkward.

“Guess you were out doing some recon?” Wade asked, resting his arms along the back of the couch. Peter was hyperaware of the hand that was just inches from his own shoulder.

“Yeah, actually.” Peter cleared his throat and tried to relax. “Scoped out Harvey’s apartment building and—get this—Harvey is actually a woman.”

“What?” Wade’s eyes were wide with surprise then narrowed as he asked, “Are you sure you’re not just assuming gender beneath baggy clothes?”

Peter pursed his lips a bit petulantly. “The person we originally thought was Harvey was out of the building, and then this feminine presenting person leaves, and I hear a crony refer to that person as Harvey.” Wade nodded along approvingly until Peter added, “And I saved a woman from bleeding out. Totally unrelated to the whole Harvey thing.”

“Cops come?”

Grimacing, Peter said, “Yeah. Tony’s on it, though. We’re not sure if they’ll move or not.”

Wade clicked his tongue. “Bad luck.”

“Win some, lose some.” Peter shrugged.

“Ain’t that just the way.”

They fell into a somewhat uncomfortable silence, not looking at each other.

Finally, Peter peeked out of the corner of his eye and saw Wade doing the same thing. Together they started laughing quietly and Peter held out a hand which Wade took gently, rubbing his thumb into Peter’s palm.

“So, uh, we didn’t really talk much about it before,” Wade started, “but are you okay with this,” he waved his free hand to the space between them, “being a thing?”

Peter shifted more to the side so he could face Wade. He tried to smile reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m okay with it. I like spending time with you.”

“And the kissing? Maybe other things—but we can negotiate that like way later.” Flippantly, Wade made a broad gesture.

Blushing, Peter said, “Yeah, I liked that, too.” He laughed a little nervously. “God, I feel like a teenager again.”

Wade laughed, too, albeit more genuinely. He covered Peter’s hand that he was already holding with his other hand and they simply sat like that for a few moments. The stillness was not quite broken even though Wade eventually asked, “How can I touch you? With this whole _thing_ you’ve got going?”

Peter felt a frown form on his lips. “When I was first bitten, I developed more sensitivity in my hairs which is part of my ‘spidey sense’ and how I detect people and things. But over time, I started growing more hairs, tiny almost invisible ones, all over my body that serve the same purpose. But because there are so many now, I _feel_ everything.

“With my suit on, it dampens the effects by insulating my body, but it’s not a cure.” He looked up at Wade who was watching him with interest. “I sleep in webs because I can’t stand the feeling of sheets. I strategically open and close windows or block them so that the wind and sound doesn’t overwhelm me. The only times I touch people are when I’m fighting them, and that’s different than brushing up against someone on the subway. It’s why you can never sneak up on me. I can always sense you—and others,” he added, trying to sound nonchalant.

Wade seemed like he was really mulling over the information. “So, when I kissed you...?”

“I wasn’t exactly expecting it!” Peter said defensively. He took a breath, blushing again as he remembered the feeling of Wade’s hands and lips. “I hadn’t been kissed in a few years so I had no idea how that would feel. And you were touching my hair—which was nice! I’m just not used to so many points of contact and especially my hair and face.”

Nodding in understanding, Wade held up one of his hands towards Peter’s face, but he did not touch. “Can we try getting used to it?”

“You’re okay with it? That I can’t just immediately kiss you or have sex?” Peter asked, his voice quiet.

Wade squeezed his hand a little bit and smiled. “It’s not all about that. I mean, I want to kiss you and hold you and fuck you over like every available surface.” He laughed when Peter ducked his head, utterly embarrassed. “Petey, I don’t need those things to be happy with you. I’m fine going at the pace you need.”

Peter’s head lifted and he chanced a small smile. Slowly, he leaned forward and lightly rested his cheek against Wade’s still outstretched palm. “This is nice,” he said softly. And it was, Wade’s hand was warm and though Peter could feel his scars, it wasn’t bad. In fact, it was easier because he was dealing with more scar tissue than direct skin. He said as much out loud.

A chuckle later and Wade was letting go of his hand to reach out and very gently cup the other side of Peter’s face. Peter, eyes closed, hummed. He could feel where Wade was, how close he was and wrapped his fingers around Wade’s wrists, pushing his hands a little further so he was not only barely touching anymore.

“It’s better like this. I can feel the space between my skin and yours if you’re not touching me fully.” Peter opened his eyes to see Wade’s expression of awe and adoration.

“Can I try to kiss you now?” Wade asked, almost breathlessly.

“Yes.”

Very slowly, almost too slowly, Wade leaned in closer. Both of their eyes slipped shut this time. As his lips brushed against Peter’s, it caused that little shiver again. Rather than back away, Peter moved forward, increasing the pressure of the kiss so it was more comfortable.

When Wade went to lean back, Peter followed and kissed him again, pressing more insistently. Again, Wade pulled away and this time Peter let him. Peter’s eyes were soft when they opened, and Wade’s were trying to read him. Evidently, they saw what Peter wanted, so he leaned in and kissed him once more. Twice more.

Peter’s body was singing. The points of contact were limited to his hands and face, helping to not overwhelm the rest of him. It had been so long, and Peter felt so good kissing Wade that he never wanted to stop. It helped that Wade wanted it just as much.

Too soon, but after what felt like hours lost in each other, they broke apart. Wade asked against Peter’s lips, “Do you want to try anything else?”

It was a difficult question. Peter wanted to stay right there for the rest of his life, but at the same time he wanted so much more. It seemed he was taking too long to contemplate because moments later Wade was taking his hands back and retreating into the couch.

“No, wait,” Peter mumbled, startled by how hoarse his voice was. “I don’t know what I want to—”

Wade cut him off, gently peeling Peter’s hands from his wrists, “It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything else. We can sit back and play some games and I’ll order pizza, yeah?”

Peter opened his mouth so as to say something, but nothing came out. He shrunk back, away from Wade, feeling like a porcelain doll. It wasn’t as though he wanted to stop, but Wade must have taken his hesitancy as a red flag. It was lovely to have a partner who cared like that, but not for Peter in this instance.

Rather than fight, he settled more into the cushions and nodded his head slowly. “Yeah, that sounds good,” he said softly, trying not to sound too put out.

If Wade noticed the sudden mood shift or not, he made no sign. Instead, he heaved himself up to retrieve a phone—one among many on the kitchen table—and called in an order for them. He had barely hung up, was just walking back, when Peter gathered both his mask and his wits and started leaving out the way he had come.

“It’ll only be—wait, where are you going?”

Peter almost paused but continued his exit, only saying over his shoulder, “Sorry. Just—yeah.”

The desire to retreat was overwhelming and Peter dropped to the ground before taking off homeward.

Home itself was unappealing but Peter didn’t want to get caught up in any crime or accidents. He entertained the idea of going to Tony. That got brushed off quickly as he knew there wouldn’t be anything for him to do but hover as they looked for leads. Instead, Peter entered his less than legal nest.

The two bodies were still wrapped up tight. The front door was just the way he’d left it. He had already surmised Wade was the one that had tried to break in. But… that didn’t add up right.

By the time Peter had gotten there with the body, Wade must have already been in his actual apartment waiting. Even if Wade had followed him to this building, the webs were tampered with before Peter had arrived.

Peter left through his little secret entrance and took a side entrance to get into the actual building and traipse along the hallway. In front of what he knew to be his door—by the smell at the least—there was a piece of paper stuck to it. Snatching it up, Peter realized it was one of many that were all along the hall on every door.

Also lining the walls were various building tools, large buckets of paint, and rolls of tarp. At the end of the hall, a few of the doors were open and, peering in, Peter could see that repair work was being done to make them livable again.

The paper was still in his hand. It read at the top “ _NOTICE OF INSPECTION_ ” and had empty lines for a date and a signature.

Without thinking of it consciously, Peter was holding his phone and there was a ringing in his ear as he waited for the call to be picked up. After two rings, it was.

“Pete? Shit. I’m sorry. I—did I do something wrong?” Wade’s voice was frantic.

“Shut up, listen,” Peter hissed, and he was glad when Wade did.

“What?”

“I have a problem.”

“Okay, what can I do—?”

Peter spoke over him, “They’re remodeling my building.”

Silence. Then, “Your apartment building?”

“No. This place—I keep my dead bodies here.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry, your _what_?”

“Dude! I’m freaking out right now!”

Wade sounded like he was also freaking out as he said, “It’s not every fucking day _Spider-Man_ calls me about dead bodies that are _his_!”

“And this is the weirdest thing I’ve ever called you about? I told you I eat people.”

“You didn’t say that you kept the bodies! What the _fuck_?”

“I don’t eat the whole body.” Peter almost threw his phone then remembered he needed it to talk to Wade. “Where the hell am I going to find a better death apartment?”

“ _Death apartment_?” Wade absolutely screeched over the line.

Peter had no idea what to say and it seemed like Wade was too cross for words at the moment. A minute passed, both of them panicking on opposite sides of the phone call.

Finally, Wade took a deep breath, interrupting his own grumbled curses to say, “Just get back here, okay? Right now. We’ll—fuck—I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”

Peter pressed his forehead to the nearest wall and sighed deeply. “Fine. Okay, fine.” He began making his way to get back into the apartment. “Let me just take out the trash first.”

“The _trash_ ,” Wade choked on the words. “God, who the fuck let Spidey kill people?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

Before the line disconnected, he heard a last whispered, “ _Trash_ ,” and groaned aloud.


	3. Chapter 2.5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a short and sweet update as an interlude.  
> You may think that quarantine is a great time to write stuff and get things done. I regret to inform you that quarantine in fact sucks the life out of me and all of my passion is gone. This is rather unedited o7

With a sense of urgent panic, it took less time than Peter thought it might to clear the place out of webs and the two stray bodies. The fresher of the two was a little more difficult to deal with as it had yet to mummify. Still, he managed it without incident.

It was nearing the gray hour before dawn when he made it back to Wade’s. Inside, Wade was waiting, mindlessly cleaning a gun that seemed way too big to be anywhere near legal.

Deadpan, Wade asked, “Did you take care of the trash?”

Peter sighed noisily and flopped down into a chair across from him as a response.

A few seconds passed as Wade continued wiping the barrel of his gun with a cloth. Then a few more. Nearly a minute had gone by when Peter was startled by the loud thud Wade made as he dropped the weapon on the table.

“Do you have any idea how fucking insane all this is?” Wade shouted. “Dead bodies? Why the fuck do you keep bodies?” He punctuated the question by flapping his hands, causing Peter to flinch and shrink back from him.

“I . . . I’m sorry.” Peter shook his head, looking away. He curled up his knees to rest his chin on.

“No—I’m—” With a loud groan, Wade rubbed a hand over his face, winced, and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled.” He let out a deep breath and continued, “I don’t know what to do with you.”

Peter went to stand. “I’ll just go—”

“Wait!”

One foot on the floor, Peter looked at him sharply, taking in the exhaustion shown in his eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Wade tried, more softly than before. “Relax, you don’t have to leave.”

Minutely, Peter let go of the tension in his muscles until he was no longer poised to run. “I know this is all strange and confusing. It is for me, too, because I’ve never had to—well—explain any of this to someone . . . someone who actually wants to understand.”

Wade was looking at him with a complicated expression, one Peter couldn’t quite get a grasp on. “I do want to,” he said, reaching out his hand across the space between them with his palm up. Tentatively, Peter grasped it. When he did, Wade added, “I had no idea this part of you existed, but I want to get to know him so I can fall in love with him, just like I have with the rest of you.”

Mouth open, Peter didn’t think he’d ever blushed so hard in his life, his cheeks warmer than they’d ever been. Trembling, he whispered, “That’s gay.”

He was grinning a moment later as Wade laughed, squeezing the hand he was still holding. “Idiot!” Wade chuckled, fondness apparent.

Once the giddiness has subsided, Wade clasped his other hand around their already entwined fingers and said, more seriously, “Tell me everything. Anything. Whatever you need or don’t need.”

“Okay,” Peter said quietly with a nod.

“And—” Wade paused, “—first, tell me what I did wrong last time.”

Peter tried to take his hand back, but Wade wouldn’t let go. He just kept looking at Peter’s face, waiting for an answer. Not meeting his eyes, Peter mumbled, “Well, uh, it’s just—” He struggled to find the right words. Eventually he settled on, “I wanted you to kiss me more.”

Visibly stunned, Wade fell back slightly. Then, he narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “You should have said so.”

Peter winced. “I know. It was hard to think just then, let alone speak.”

“And you’re sure you’re not a blushing virgin?” Wade asked with a teasing smile.

“I’m sure!” Peter insisted, cheeks flushed again. “Like I said, it’s been a long time. And I’ve . . . neverbeenwithaguybefore.”

“What was that?”

Sighing, Peter repeated more clearly, “I’ve never been with a guy before, okay?”

Wade’s eyes got wide, his smile wider. “Oh, dear. I’m Spidey’s first man? You think you can handle a big boy like me?” His lips curled devilishly. “I’m not the kind of girl to take to a hotel after prom night who’ll roll over and spread her legs to get her cherry popped.”

Peter thought he might be experiencing heatstroke by how warm his face and neck were getting. In fact, he was starting to feel sweat gather at his temples. “I know that,” he muttered, not at all confident.

Reaching very slowly, so Peter would have time to react, Wade lifted his hand until he placed it around the back of Peter’s neck, holding just tight enough to be a steady pressure. Peter closed his eyes, pushing back slightly into the hand.

“You want a kiss?” Wade asked and Peter nodded, his eyes still closed. Wade squeezed just a little bit more. “You’re gonna have to ask for it.”

Eyes snapping open, Peter looked at him with apprehension. Even so, Wade did not falter, but kept himself still, waiting for an answer. He was learning, Peter noted to himself approvingly.

“Wade,” Peter’s voice was a whisper. “Kiss me.”

He wasn’t sure who moved first, but they met in the middle, lips touching without hesitation. Peter was glad for the pressure at the back of his neck to ground him, keeping his mind tethered to the moment. Consciously, he lifted his free hand, the other still in Wade’s, and pressed it to Wade’s cheek, urging him on silently.

The palm around his neck was steady, unmoving and solid. Peter appreciated it. While his lips moved, tongue touching and tasting, it was grounding to him. Too much would have overwhelmed him again.

Wade broke the kiss, leaning back, before he tried tugging gently at him. Peter was to move closer, that much was obvious, but Wade wasn’t forcing him to.

Instead, he relinquished his grip and allowed Peter to disengage, who did so reluctantly. He needed to make some things clear before he let himself get carried away again. Returning back to his seat with his knees up, Peter avoided looking into Wade’s eyes.

“Okay, ask me whatever you want to know,” he said blandly.

Wade pursed his lips. “Why do you keep the bodies?”

“Instinct, I guess.” Peter shrugged. “I bring them to my nest after they’re wrapped up. They need a little time to soften before I can eat their guts.” In his periphery he noticed Wade nodding slowly.

“Y’know, despite my obsession, I really don’t know much about actual spiders,” Wade confessed sheepishly.

Peter glanced at his face before his eyes flicked away. “I didn’t expect you to.” He wrapped his arms around his legs and sighed quietly. “I can’t just spin a trap in the corner and wait for bugs to fly in, I have to hunt. I don’t bring them to my actual home so when I was first getting used to things, I set up a nest somewhere hidden. The area was abandoned at the time.”

“Lovingly called your ‘death apartment’,” Wade quipped.

Peter spared him an amused snort. “If I leave them long enough, they’ll dry out and become like mummies. It’s a lot easier to dispose of them after that.”

“But the owner of the building is remodeling.”

“Yeah.” Peter nodded. “There were papers pinned to the doors in the hall. I had noticed something was off.” He shrugged again, feeling tired. Looking up, he could see the first signs of dawn through the windows.

Wade made a _tsk_ ing sound and said, “Well, shit. Guess we’ll have to do some window shopping soon. You just ate, though, so we’ve got a week or two still. Yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” Peter assented through a yawn. The sun always made him drowsy, and he’d been awake for quite a while.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, now,” he heard Wade say.

“I won’t.” Peter yawned again and stood, stretching his back a little. “I should head home. Tony woke me early again today.”

Thoughtfully, Wade did not comment that ‘today’ was actually ‘yesterday’ as Peter was now firmly nocturnal. Wade followed him towards the door to let him out. They stood next to each other, a bit awkwardly, for a long moment. Then Peter yawned for a third time and Wade chuckled.

“Go home you little brat,” Wade urged.

Peter frowned petulantly but shuffled along. Just before he began his journey home he said quietly, “See you later.”


End file.
